


An Evening's Entertainment

by cathouse_mary



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Art, Cockblocking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Someone Let Thrawn Out By Himself, Thrawn Gets a Clue, Ylenia Tarkin deserves a medal, his wingmen are assholes, officers behaving badly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: Thrawn is generally bored out of his skull at social functions. Good thing he has Yularen and Parck looking out for him.Not.
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

Sooner or later, every man displays a weakness.

Something scurrilous, titillating, but most of all - in Yularen's line of work - exploitable. All except for Admiral Thrawn. Damn the man, as honest as Thrawn is, he makes Yularen's work very difficult. Take, for instance, this social function for the ranking up of an admiral to a grand admiral. It's stuffed with men of rank, wealth, and power - and not a few women who are even more dangerous than their male counterparts. Then there's the array of 'personalities' from the entertainment world, paramours, and even the demimondaines - whose favors cost at least a third of an Imperial Class II destroyer.

And the man disappears. You really can't let him out without Commander Vanto for a keeper - you can hear that Wild Space twang clear across the district. Find Vanto = Find Thrawn.

Yularen nods to Admiral Parck, also evidently looking for Thrawn. "Lost him again?"

"Already looked in the gallery, so unless he's just jumped off the balcony-"

Yularen snickers. "He might. He's the most un-social being I've met."

They've both been holding their drinks since the start of the affair, seeming to imbibe without actually doing so. For now, they position themselves in the corner of the room and watch. Good gravy - the extortion opportunities. Then he focuses on one of the wives. Ylenia Tarkin is soft-spoken, well-dressed, and now sporting a bracelet in red gold with fire sapphires, neckpiece to match, and hair-combs. Willhuf Tarkin himself has the face of a man who has abruptly lost either a chunk of his buttock or his bank account. Yularen knows for certain Ylenia was not wearing those pieces twenty minutes ago, as he was speaking to both of them at the time. He widens his focus, nudging Parck and getting a nod in return.

Anomaly.

Other women seem to be wearing either more or different pieces than when they came in. He knows for a fact that there is not a single representative from the Jewelers' Guild here - he vetted the guest list. Aurora Melaan and Wynnsa Starflare slide out of a side room, each sporting a fresh change of jewels. Yularen finds the word - parue set - the jewels in green for Wynnsa and purple for Aurora and set in what looks like platinum. He and Parck take separate routes to an observation point, and when Parck gets there first, Yularen can see the man biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Joining him, Yularen has to do the same. He's found the source of the jewelry, and right next to the source of the jewelry, they have found Thrawn.

"That sly dog," Yularen chuckles.

The bartender is human and female, brown haired and brown-eyed, and lightly toasted in color. Similar to Vanto - Thrawn may have a type. This particular iteration of type comes to Thrawn's chin with abundant curves, as graceful as a temple dancer, and wearing little aside from the pretty shinies. Very nice, indeed, for what he can see above the wine colored _rua_ wood of the bar. The man has good taste, they knew that, but for all they knew Thrawn was an ascetic celibate. Evidently not, from the way his fingers brush down the curve of her neck and shoulder.

Parck dusts imaginary specks off his uniform and his manners, then squares up his insignia. Naval officers - forever chasing tail.

"Fantail." Yularen chides, thinking of the dandified ornamental birds of his grandparents' garden and their mating displays.

Parck smiles, puffs out his chest a little, and does not deny it. "As you might have heard, my friend, at flag rank we are very competitive."

At Yularen's age, he does not do the chasing - but every so often a kind young lady finds his moustache and manners charming. However, blockade and interference are fine old naval traditions - and he means to give the young fantails of Parck and Thrawn a run for their credits.

"Then by all means, Admiral Parck, let's go complicate their evening."


	2. An Evening's Entertainment: Safe Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn seeks an escape from being voluntold (mandatory volunteering) to attend a social event and finds what he thinks is safe harbor.

Truly, he'd rather be back on the decks of the _Chimera_. Or, as Parck said, jumping off the balcony to get out of mandatory sociability. He lingered in the gallery long enough to ascertain that the Admiralty had indeed acquired two more Lesiko Massvani sculptures, one being authentic and the other being an egregious fake. He couldn't even call it a forgery as a forgery could be a work in and of itself, where this simply looked as if it had been placed in a sandblasting tunnel before being beaten with chains. To use a Vanto-ism - 'patina' his ass.

Ascertaining that there were people looking for him with whom he would prefer not to interact, Thrawn exited the gallery and wound his way around the edges of the gathering, slipping into a smaller, darker, quieter area. A bar, the lights dimmed to an intimate and less harsh level of illumination, the bar itself backlit in an amber gold light was the very artistic setting for the… what do they call them here… barmistress.  His first impression is one of youth, warmth in the way humans have it, and friendliness in her smile. She wears, from what he can see, mostly jewelry and some sort of golden mesh garment that covers her from chin to ankles and yet leaves very little to one's imagination. Her hair and eyes are brown, her skin lightly so, and her accent speaks of being from offworld. She reminds him of Eli.

"Good Admiral, I am Zhari. How may I serve you this evening?" 

The name gives him a small surprise, but this is no Ziara. "My apologies, Mistress Zhari. I was looking for a place with dimmer lighting - my species sees in the infrared, and the brighter lights are trying." 

"I can see that you might need a rest from all that." She pats the bar, bracelets and bangles jingling gently. "Come and sit - you'll find some peace here."

On closer inspection, her jewelry is unique. Red gold and fire sapphires, and not what he would expect to see on a young adult - the unique designs speaking of something custom made and expensive. 

"Pardon me," he says, for Eli has told him it is polite to say when staring. "I've never seen jewelry like yours. It's almost like some religious pieces I've seen."

Mistress Zhari brightens. "My father was of the jeweler's temple on my homeworld - he made pieces for court dancers. These are my own designs for sale. I'm making my stake to join the Jewelers' Guild here."

"Indeed?" He comes to take the seat at the corner of the bar - a wall at his back and no other seat next to him. There is some scent to her that pings pleasantly upon his senses, perfume no doubt, but a pleasant one. "You are an artist?   
  


When Mistress Zhari straightens her shoulders with pride, it causes impressive things to happen to her bustline. She is appealingly curved, he thinks, then pauses and wonders how that thought wandered into his head.

"I am. All designs are one of a kind. I will never make the same design twice." She gracefully offers her arm with rings on fingers, bracelets and bangles three-quarters of the way up her arm, spaulders for each shoulder attached to her neckpiece, and looking down, more jewels. "I hope to make a good stake tonight."

Thrawn shakes his head, marvelling at the artistry and graceful dignity in each piece. "You could cash these out for a new TIE- _ Interceptor _ . How much is it to join the guild?" 

"Half a million credits to join unless you have a patron, then another quarter million as your materials deposit." Mistress Zhari offers her other arm. "Then rent, food, and expenses." 

"Emergency funds, as well. Do you not have a patron?" The scent is familiar, but Thrawn can't place it. "I would think with such artistry, you would have many willing."

"I wish to proceed on my own. What is given can also be taken away." Her voice is one of quiet determination. "And should I lose my patron, the guild would require me to make up the funds that were withdrawn." 

"Ah, Admiral Thrawn, there you are." Wilhuff Tarkin steps in from the mob, Lady Ylenia Tarkin on his arm. "Trust a strategist to find the only place to get a drink. You have, of course, met  Ylenia."

Thrawn rises and bows over the lady's hand, as is proper. "A good evening to you both." 

Tarkin looks at the barmistress and with an effort keeps his gaze on her face. "Chandrilan ooskai for myself and the admiral. Ylenia?"

"Hm? Oh, something light and sweet for me. Do you have Sisovia icewine?" Lady Tarkin is certainly gazing at Zhari, but not at her form. Her eyes are all for the gemstones. "And are those actual fire sapphires?" 

"We have Sisovia icewine, my lady." Zhari is already pouring and taking the icewine from it's cooling ring. "And they are - fully documented by the Cutting Guild - and set in 97 percent pure red gold from Autura." 

"And how did you acquire them?" Tarkin looks casually interested, and likely he is - in blackmail. "Such things cost far more than I expect a barmaid to make."

"I am a jeweler in the Giadi tradition. I can provide receipts for the materials." Again that pride of owing nothing to none else.

Ylenia sips her wine as her husband sighs, his tone at once indulgence and resignation. "Pick your pretties - just don't ruin me in one night, dearest."

"It will set you back considerably less than a destroyer, darling."

"Given current prices, that is no comfort." 

Ylenia lightly claps her hands. "Mistress Zhari, come out so that I might get the full effect. Goodness, it's well you're wearing your jewels or you might take a chill." The full effect is quite aesthetically appealing with warm and layered tonalities, and a pose designed to showcase the work on display. Ylenia walks around the younger woman. "The cuff, certainly, and the hair combs. Is the necklace one piece or two?"

"It is one that can be made into a headband or tiara to help support a large pair of earrings, my lady." Zhari allows the cuff to be removed, but Ylenia requires some assistance in removing the necklace - the fastening is complicated. "Admiral Thrawn, could you please give an assist? Mistress Zhari is some taller than I in those shoes. I admire your stamina, dear girl, I couldn't get across the room."

Coming from anyone else, he might be able to refuse the request. He might not understand politics, but he's not an idiot. He bows slightly to Mistress Zhari and steps behind her as she moves her hair out of the way. The mechanism is complicated. Human females seem to be afflicted with dress modes that they can't put on by themselves. However, unencumbered by a uniform and underclothing, humans are radiantly warm and the enticing scent is even stronger in proximity.  Upon removing the necklace, Thrawn steps back to a more proper distance and hands the necklace to Tarkin. The man looks distinctly amused as Lady Ylenia decrees that the light's too dim to properly do her hair, and come Zhari, we'll go into the ladies' lounge. 

"Well. That's going to set me back, but after forty years of putting up with me she deserves a medal." Tarkin smiled. "And you, Admiral, I've heard many things about your new TIE concept."

"The prototype is in testing now. I'm hoping to present it within a few months with the kinks out." He takes a sip of the drink from courtesy, finding the taste harsh.

Tarkin is noncommittal on the matter of funding and that's understandable, as there's one large project out there sucking up credits and materials at an astounding rate. 

Once out of the ladies' lounge, Ylenia rejoins her husband - taking his arm with a pat and handing back his credit stick. "Don't worry. Mistress Zhari and I worked out satisfactory terms. Zhari, I will be calling." Then with a smile at Thrawn she simply wishes him good hunting as Tarkin stares at his revised credit balance in shock.

"Ylenia - that's a brand new TIE fighter-" Thrawn hears Tarkin's protest as Lady Tarkin leads him out.

Thrawn resumes his seat, pushing the glass away. "She seems pleased."

"She's very knowledgeable about jewels and metals - not so much about bargaining." Zhari reaches under the bar and pulls out a bag, carefully removing velvet cases and sacks, looking in and then putting them aside. "I can't decide what to put on next. More fire sapphires?"

Thrawn takes it as an actual question. "No woman will wear fire sapphires while Ylenia Tarkin wears them. You need a different lure. I would like to see you in intensely hued stones."

Now where did that come from? Not the drink, he'd had one sip. However, Mistress Zhari has found her Migan emeralds with fire mollusk pearls and is changing her display. Only the silk wrap around her hips remains as he watches her redecorate herself. The contrast of green, white, and gold is pleasing, more vivid against her skin and… he can't actually call it clothing since it's artfully enhanced nudity. 

"Would you help me with the back, Admiral?" 

Zhari is pinning her hair up, then steps in front of him as if his agreement is a foregone conclusion. She has a dancer's musculature, and though he's not one for performance art, it is eye-catching. A Suvorthi marble dancer, perhaps. After all, erotic art is still art. It's as he's fastening the neck piece - and it has a counter weight, something you'd never consider to be a function of jewelry - it hits him. 

She scents of night-melon, both fruit and flower - but those are Csillan and not found here. Humans, extravagantly warm, are also profligate with their pheromones. The warmer the human and the less clothed, the more their scent carries. His brain, trying to sort out the barrage of olfactory information, is telling Thrawn that Mistress Zhari is… well… 

_ The delight that is the flower of the night-melon _

_ Her petals parting only in the darkest hours _

_ Give sweet nectar to those who dare pursue- _

And he really does not need to think of the rest of that poem.


	3. An Evening's Entertainment: Meeting the Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One may not complain about the shit hitting the fan when one loaded and launched it. Parck will anyway.

Thrawn gives in to drawing his fingertips down Zhari's back, over the gold mesh of her garment. The warmth and the wave of scent that accompany that is now cataloged in his mind. Desire. This is human desire. He opens his mouth and lets an indrawn breath caress the scent organelles on his bony palate. Night-melon flower and fruit, but oddly his favorite sweet/spicy biscuits as well, then he rubs his tongue over them. The taste is indescribably good - bringing to mind the rest of the poem he's trying not to think about.

Mistress Zhari looks over her shoulder at him, her infrared signature changing in fascinating patterns with sweeps of heat across her cheeks, her lips warming. 

"How soon is your shift ending?" The question appears with no interference from his frontal lobes. It would appear that he is operating with what Captain Faro refers to as 'the downstairs brain.'

"It ends at 01.00." Again a warm wave of scent and warm smile. Humans smile often but rarely mean it - Zhari means it. "Are you planning to stick around?"

"As long as you need a necklace fastener, I am inclined." His fingertips rest at her waist, just above a jeweled belt. "And if you wish me to stay."

Her eyes meet his squarely as she turns to face him, her fingertips gliding over the back of his hand in a Chiss-like gesture. "I wish it."

"Then it shall be so." He wants in a way he has not given reign to in a long time with a female. 

From there, she goes back behind the bar, pours him a Dyveran brandy and sets the glass on the heating ring. 

A pair of women appear in the entry - Maia Romodi and Coryne Motti are both so focussed on Mistress Zhari that Thrawn might as well be furniture. He does rise when their husbands come in search of them and pale at the sight of freshly bejeweled wives in uncut diamonds and white gold. General Merone of Tagge's house phalanx appears with her spouse and they both leave with smiles - Doradia's gravid belly adorned with platinum chains dotted with blue diamonds, Liani wearing a cuff to match.

In all of this, Thrawn watches Zhari poses, is denuded of jewels, then readorned with his help. The women regard him curiously, but he treats them with severe formal courtesy and talks war with their husbands - who wish him Hunter's Luck, a good chase, puzzlingly ask if he's rated to operate that equipment and suchlike. 

When Zhari comes to him for fastening, her hands are expressive with him. Her touch is firm and while she might be only touching his hands, among the Chiss that is an intimate and enticing gesture indeed. The last of her jewels have a fire and ice effect - diamonds with platinum and blackfyre opals

"This is it. If I sell these, I'll be going home in my uni, scarves, and shoes." Her fingers trace his wrists and he tangles his fingers with hers.

"Do you have others to wear?" Thrawn asks, glancing at the chrono. One more hour. 

"Of course I do."

"Will you wear them for me?" His lips hover at the back of her neck.

"Anything you wish me to wear or not to wear, Admiral." Her breath catches as his lips part and he tastes her skin. 

-and simultaneously sees two smiling bastards on approach to bring him mischief. 

"Naval blockade - inbound." He doesn't know what they plan, and likely nor do they, but the evening is about to become complicated.

"Evasive maneuvers?" 

Zhari's skin is warm under his palm as he gives a squeeze and pat to softness over firmness at the curve of her hip. "Follow my lead."

"Aye, sir."

~

Yularen is beaming with good cheer. He can do it, he looks like everyone's favorite uncle instead of the relentless bloodhunter that he is. Parck, on the other hand, knows that he looks as about standard-issue as an officer can get, so he's cultivated charm and manners to a high art. The pretty barmaid has her back to Thrawn as he apparently handles a complicated fastening for her neckpiece. Thrawn has apparently struck the right targets with her as he rests a hand on the curve of her hip and she doesn't slap his face right off his head. 

"Thrawn! There you are. We were worried that you'd followed through on your threat to jump from the balcony!" Yularen calls cheerfully. "Instead we find you in such charming company. My dear, I have not had the pleasure." Yularen previously dumped his drink in a potted plant, and sets the empty glass on the bar. "I am Wulff Yularen."

"I am Zhari si'Lasmi." The young lady has an accent, and up close looks lively and warmly natured - smiling, with a sweet lower-register voice that one bends in to hear. She offers her hand and Yularen - being the wolf he's named for, bows over it. "I am pleased to meet you, Colonel."

"And I am Voss Parck, Mistress si'Lasmi." He does Yularen one better, raising a small but surprisingly strong hand to his lips. The bold lassie meets him gaze for gaze as his lips meet warm skin. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He is also keenly aware of Thrawn's red-eyed gaze over the rim of his Dyveran brandy glass and smiles - though it is more a showing of teeth. _You trouble me and I trouble you, old friend._ Thrawn acknowledges as if he heard the thought, tipping his glass in Parck's direction, though he might simply be acknowledging the hunt is on.

"Dyveran! I have not had that in an age. It's been hard to find." Yularen turns his attention to Mistress Zhari. "What vintage do you have?"

"This bottle is the only one, Colonel, and it dates from thirty years before Ascension." She shows the bottle and the rock crystal and gold glasses for drinking it. 

"Just your age, Yularen." Parck notes. "For two, Mistress Zhari, and a refill for Admiral Thrawn when he's ready."

Perhaps anyone else would have been thrown off stride, but Thrawn looked maddeningly confident. Confidence or not, win or lose, Parck is going to cockblock him until his balls turn bluer than they are already. The barmaid places the heaters in front of them, and delicately pours the thick, nearly resinous fluid in before setting them over the heat ring. The fragrance fills the corner of the bar with deep notes of wood and spice. 

"Ah, now see Greyaud? I told you that I smelled Dyveran earlier."

"You did, indeed, Wyatt. And what a fine way to serve it. Why, hello there, li'l sweetheart."

Parck raises his eyes to the mirror on the back bar, catching the reflections of Grand Admirals Greyaud Treyven and Wyatt Hollis, both of them with wide smiles and tugging their tunics straight. 

Oh. _Fuck._

Or not, as the case may be. 

After entire adulthoods in the military he, Thrawn, and Yularen are all standing at attention - they could do it from a dead sleep by now.

"As you were, lads." Treyven's smile ought to break his face and Hollis' Wild Space twang has tipped the scales a number of times if his reputation is truthful. "And would one of you properly introduce us to the delightful young lady?"

Yularen took that one by the horns with the aplomb of a man who had been in uniform when Thrawn and Parck had been green baby cadets. "Grand Admiral Hollis, Grand Admiral Trayven, please meet Mistress Zhari si'Lasmi of Giad. Mistress Zhari, may I introduce Grand Admiral Trayven of the Sixth Fleet, and Grand Admiral Hollis of the Fourth Fleet."

The charming bastards kiss her offered hand and Parck hopes that he actually has some sort of pathogen to make them both ill. Zhari regrets that the admirals and colonel have claimed the bottle, causing the high brass to turn eyes on them. 

"Indeed."

"Is that so?"

Thrawn, for all his inability to understand the least political twitch is fast enough to see rank about to be pulled when it's flying up his stern and the spoils are summarily shared. Mistress Zhari pours with the genteel cheer of a hostess in her own home. Thrawn does have good taste, and no reputation as a skirt-chaser, which makes his behavior all the more notable. Over the next ten minutes, it's as if someone shook the building and then tilted it, causing all the loose brass to roll into the little out-of-the-way room. The bar has room for no more than ten, the room can hold perhaps six more. There are colonels, commodores, brigadiers, generals, admirals, grand admirals - resulting in a war of attrition. No blood is spilled, but the maneuvering is brutal - with the combatants vying for Zhari's tender attentions and a view of her cleavage while trying to covertly curb-stomp their brethren. It gets a man's blood up, and a woman's too from the presence of three commodores of the opposite bio-designation in the fray. 

"Goodness. The Separatists could hit this room and have their victory." The voice was a woman's and it pulled every one of them off the bar and to attention. Baroness Romodi, the Battledragon herself, mother of generals and admirals, it was said had she not married from House Tagge, that the Empire could be missing half the senior staff. With iron-grey hair and a battleship-grey dress, she came armored in emeralds, her grand-daughter-in-law Maia behind her. "Where might one find Mistress Zhari?"


	4. In Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issues of rank and Zhari's views on officers.

You play the game, you take the chances, and dance however the tune comes. Zhari learned this at her mother's breast, taking the lesson to heart for life. The lady is formidable enough to bring a roomful of pretty officers to attention - and make a few who are no doubt related to her break a sweat. Admiral Parck and Colonel Yularen move aside when she speaks.

"I am she, Baroness." Zhari dips a curtsey. "How may I serve?"

"My grand-daughter-in-law described a hair-ornament of your make. Migan emeralds and pearls. Do you still have it?" Her voice is brisk and to the point - as no-nonsense as an admiral in her way. "If so, I wish to purchase it."

A few officers, the ones who broke a sweat, are doing a slow fade into the woodwork. 

"I do, Baroness." The bag is in her hand and she brings out the piece. It is not a Giadi design, but calls back to the tradition of interwoven gold threads to make the band strong. It blazes against the black velvet of the bag. "All materials documented."

"The light here is too low to adequately inspect. We will adjourn to the ladies' lounge. I trust," Baroness Romodi looks around the bar, "that we have a level of security here to permit the young woman to step away for a few minutes."

Zhari glances to Thrawn - and gets the smallest nod with a brush of a finger down her index finger. It's less than thirty minutes to the end of her shift and Mother's Voice, she wants him so much. Nonetheless, the crowd now parts for them as they make their way into the ladies' lounge.

Once there, the baroness takes a seat before the screen and undoes the heavy bun from the back or her head. "You, my girl, are flying into a warfleet without a transponder."

Zhari takes the proffered brush and with long strokes smooths the hair. "It is a lively evening, my lady, with a string of pretty officers down my bar like bracelets on my arm."   


"A flock of fantails, you mean. Puffing chests, strutting, and waving their tails." Baroness Romodi looks at her with a sharp gaze. "Aside from one."

"Aside from one." Zhari agrees, unable to squeeze her smile into something more seemly. "But what a one."

The baroness snorts as Zhari rolls and settles her hair into the snood, then sets the combs. "Well. Can't be said that you don't know what you want."

"He was confident from the start, he needed no display." Zhari chooses her next words carefully. "The others, they compete for me, but with each other."

"They are all competitive at the ranks you've drawn." The baroness regards the work with a satisfied nod. "You could be a ladies' maid, but you've made enough for yourself tonight. Tell me - who would you choose second?"

Zhari considers. "Voss Parck is charming - you must admire a man whose lips can seduce the rest of you from the back of your hand - but I would choose Wulff Yularen were there no Thrawn."

"That old wolf? He's old enough to have fathered  _ your _ father!" Maia interjected.

"Yes, but he looks as if he has plenty of patience for the slow songs - and he has good hands." Zhari considered before adding, "And I like his moustache, it's very dashing. Not many men can wear them properly."

"Goodness. You do love men, don't you?" The baroness shakes her head, then carefully selects bracelets from Zhari's arms.

"Men are like bracelets, my lady. They can serve a purpose, bring pleasure, or just look pretty. I admire men  _ and _ women." That extends to bedding both - as the ladies' cocked eyebrows indicate understanding. "Who would not look at the officers in crisp uniforms and polished boots ranging down the bar and not think 'Pretty!'" 

"And men - or women - of that age and experience generally have a fair amount of intelligence, self-control, manners, and restraint." The older woman snorts, "Tonight's jackassery excepted. But they are not baubles, and they can be dangerous if crossed or even rubbed the wrong way. You will need a patron-"

"I have my stake and deposit, my lady-" 

Baroness Romodi waves that away. "The patron is more than a pikki bank, child. A patron is protection from a man whose favors you decline, or one you end up having to stick a knife into because he won't back off." 

That… merits consideration. She is, of course, armed and Mama trained her well - but that stake could end up being spent on an advocate.

"You gain wisdom, child." She takes a credit stick out of her chatelaine and touches it to Zhari's. The total is fair, and Zhari accepts it. "Independence is so much more than owing nothing, my dear. I'm certain we'll work something out. And one last question."

"Yes, my lady?" The bargain has been struck, but not sealed.

"Why Thrawn?"

That makes her smile. "He asked about my art."

~

Thrawn is puzzled by humans - often. However, the females have their own language, customs, and traditions that are just confusing. No other people in his experience use the refresher for a social event. However, his tactics for the evening are working. When your opponents start working against one another - as they are - one's victory often comes bloodlessly.

Or at least not with one's own blood, but with buckets of it from your opponents.

Thrawn serially watches the clock, the passage to the refresher, and his opponents as the attrition deepens. Some wander back to the main room, others - having weighed the attentions of one's formidable female relatives against peace of mind - slip away. The sixteen diminishes to ten.

Yularen sighs, murmuring low enough for Thrawn's keen hearing, "Apologies, old friend. The joke rather got away from me."

Parck nods, also murmuring, "We wouldn't have tried a blockade if we knew that things would take off like this. Apologies."

Thrawn murmurs back, "Zhari is a lively and comely woman. They would have rolled in here eventually."

Parck looks around casually. "Any plans on making a break for it?"

"It's already working out the way I thought it would." Two friends take their intoxicated friend out of the bar before he can cause trouble. Down to seven - Yularen, Parck, two Grand Admirals, a general and his brigadier, and one of the roving pack of female commodores. "It's late, some of them have been filling themselves with alcohol and heavy foods since early evening. And a question."

Parck raises an eyebrow, "Of course."

"Do human females have some sort of guild?" The question gets laughter, but he's serious. "All of them go to the refresher at the same time in a social situation. Perhaps a strategic meeting?"

More laughter until Commodore Marikki Lauryn snorts into her drink and says, "He's closer to it than you gits are."

"So - strategy? Tactics?" Thrawn asks.

"Something you're absolutely horrible at parsing, dear Admiral." Lauryn snorts. "Politics of identity and hierarchy. Women at the level of Baroness Romodi have more politics than the senate."

"And more money, too." Trayven adds. "The Romodi family owns entire star systems and fields their own defense force. They poach from the navy constantly." 

"I see." House defense forces, he does understand - all of the Great and Ruling Families in the Ascendency have their own house phalanxes.

"I don't know how the Chiss do things, but the women of those families do not like independents unless there's an understanding. They're more corporations than family, sometimes." Hollis murmurs.

"That is something I understand quite well, sir. She's on their sensors, but they can't tell who she is."

"Exactly. And she's sold enough shiny stuff tonight that she's got a lot of screw-you cash." Lauryn smirked. "An independent with enough to buy into the guild is writing her own charter. Nobody has a string to pull."

"That's a good thing," Thrawn insists. "No undue influence."

"But it makes my job harder," Yularen interjects. "An independent is not wholly free of overt or covert influences, but I did vet the catering staff. She's as clean as a new star destroyer. No political entanglements, and Giad suffered a great deal from Separatist factions and in the Clone Wars. No sympathy for separatists or rebels."

As expected. Yularen is a bloodhunter and will sniff out the slightest whiff of corruption or treason. Admirals have been executed at his nod, and everyone is aware of it. 

Parck murmurs, "Battledragon incoming." 

The door to the refresher opens and the baroness exits wearing more emeralds than when she went in. She is followed by her relative, and then by Zhari - who is a very good place to rest the eyes and seems utterly untroubled from all visible indications. 

"I will call upon you, Miss Zhari, at the end of the week."

"Yes, my lady."

Two more weigh the idea of enhanced scrutiny from the Empire's version of a Great Family, finish their drinks and murmur regrets. Six. Then five. Outside of the little bar, the party seems to be getting louder - which given the amount of free alcohol on offer and the number of officers is a given. 

"Well, my dear, if ever you want to play for the team…" Commodore Lauryn sets her glass on the bar with a sigh and holds out her hand for Zhari's, then gives it a longer, softer kiss. "Do look me up." Then eyeing Thrawn she straightens to attention, "Please give my best to Karyn Faro, we were classmates in the back when. Hunter's luck, sir."

"May Warrior's fortune be with you, Commodore Marikki Lauryn. I will pass the message to Commodore Faro." He wonders what team she plays for, and in what sport. 

Five more minutes on the chrono and the Grand Admirals show no sign of budging. As subordinate officers in the chain of command, Thrawn and Parck must wait to be dismissed. Yularen departs with a kiss to Zhari's cheek, but he has always been bold. The clock ticks down its final minutes and Parck takes a breath to speak when there is a floor-shaking crash. A chair comes flying into the bar and Parck swears. The sounds of an epic brawl are twined with the screams of panic and the sound of furiously barked orders. 

"It's all fun and games until someone starts throwing furniture-" Trayven growls, already marching into the fray.

"I swear, if it's one of mine, I will tow them behind the  _ Spearpoint _ in an escape pod-" Hollis is already taking off his gloves, right behind him with Parck.

Mistress Zhari is already under the bar, her jewel bag swinging from her shoulder and cloak over her arm, a grin on her face. "Door behind the bar, service elevator and droptube."

Thrawn is already opening the door, checking that there's nobody lurking as the sound of the brawl grows to an epic roar and what sounds like the band getting into it. He just hopes not to be called to sit on a court martial. Zhari passes him and muscles open the doors to the drop tube and Thrawn drops the bar on the door as something or someone smashes into it from the other side. The sounds of sirens echo up from the plaza below.

"I don't know if those are the Federal District Police or the MPs. How far does the droptube go?" He raises the heavy doors back into position.

"One hundred levels - I'm not going to pay what it takes to park in his district. You knew there was going to be a brawl, didn't you?" Zhari slides out of her shoes and tucks her feet under a strap on the floor of the platform. "Tuck your feet in like this and put the strap around your wrist like this."

Thrawn follows suit, and is very glad that he wasn't imbibing or feasting. With a clank, the clamps let go and they're falling at terminal velocity. 


	5. An Evening's Entertainment: Go to Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escape and descent - Thrawn sees a different side of Coruscant.

Of all the sights one might see in a lifetime, a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy with white uniform and gold epaulets included, riding a cargo droptube down to its terminal is not one of them. Zhari has no idea what hair product is standard issue in the navy, but it sure holds up. The tube slows for the last 25 levels, and then opens into the secured service garage. Thrawn puts a hand on her shoulder and has a quick look around, then raises an eyebrow at her. Zhari points to her airspeeder, a Challenger C-5 and then makes a dash for it. Thrawn shadows her like a pro and she uses her remote to unlock the passenger side door.

Thrawn gets in and she opens the driver's side, slinging her bag and cloak into the afterspace behind her seat. A pair of dark glasses left on the dashboard are one of the first things he claims, then stuffs his tunic into the afterspace with her cloak. Claiming the RAK-11 'street sweeper' blaster for himself, he settles into the seat and puts on the safety harness.

"Instant hired muscle, Admiral." And he looks very good in a sleeveless black undershirt. "You make a very convincing Pantoran minder."

"I was unaware that civilian-model aircars came with patrol-level arms, Zhari." He is looking very openly at her now, then at the weapon. He quickly breaks RAK-11 down, inspects it, then reassembles it and sets it back on the charging plate. "It's in good order."

"Well, Admiral, my studio's in an iffy neighborhood. It's the old Coruscant Heights neighborhood, though it hasn't been a height for around a thousand years." Zhari reverses out of the parking spot and turns on her running lights. "I'm not in the Underworld, but pretty close. It's mostly artists and artisans looking for live-work space. I'll understand if you'd rather go somewhere else."

"And miss a chance to see an artist's studio? Let's go." 

And Mother's Voice - the traffic! Stop and go all the way out of the district until they can hit the descent from the Uptop. She positions her hand on the armrest, and her fingers are immediately brushed lightly.

"Did your people of Giad have any contact with Chiss?" His thumb is in her palm, exerting a sensual pressure. "You touch hands as my people do. It's considered intimate, enticing."

"The Blue Warriors are known to the Giadi, but from wars millennia ago." Long enough that any blue-skinned and light-haired babes have blended back into the population. Her fingertips trace the Bracelets of Fortune on his wrists. "Fierce, canny, and implacable, but also cultured and sensual."

"I'm pleased that we left a favorable impression." His voice drops as brings her hand to his lips and her head tilts back of its own accord, warmth spreading from her chest and her mound as his lips touch her palm. "We call humans 'warm ones.' I can see your blood heat your lips and cheeks, your chest. I can see the pulse beating in your wrists. I can catch the scent of your desire." 

Gauging the traffic - currently at a standstill - Zhari curls her fingers around his hand and brings to her mouth. His skin is warm under her lips as she presses her lips to the back of his hand - feeling the strength in his wrists and the pulse that quickens as she presses a soft kiss to the palm with her lips parted. Thrawn takes her chin and draws her to him and the shock of his lips on hers almost makes her feel as if she's buzzing from sensation. Until the aircar behind them leans on his horn and Zhari gives him the common human gesture involving the middle digit of her right hand before dropping into the descent lane.

~

Zhari is young enough to be fierce and passionate, but also distractible. Though, honestly, that kiss she returned to him would distract anyone who was not already dead. Her lips are soft and warm, and her response heats his blood. Whichever of his ancestors made such a kind impression on her ancestors will be honored on Remembrance Day.

He does wonder why she instructed the driver behind him to go up, though.   
Now they are dropping from the top layer of Coruscant in a lane reserved for aircars, but also populated with starcraft, repulsor lift buses, and cargo vehicles. Zhari navigates around a _Gozanti_ -class intruding on her lane, and the light from above is eclipsed by its shadow.

"It's like a rainforest, and this is the canopy." The light is dimmer here, the air not as clean, the buildings older and more run-down. The shops and other businesses employ garishly lit signs to draw customers on streets in perpetual twilight, and those streets are heavily populated and patrolled. Zhari takes out her blaster and places it on the dashboard as they continue their descent, and Thrawn removes and readies the RAK-11 street cleaner.

"A lot like, so I hear. We even have weather systems through here that the uptop never sees." Zhari cuts the beacon and drops into another traffic lane. "The beacons don't work well down here, so I'm just going to go stick."

The neighborhood changes from an entertainment district to residential, and still further down to warehouses. Thrawn removes the glasses and lets his full infrared vision take over. It's not an iffy neighborhood - it's a few blaster burns short of a warzone. The 'heights' are within a few hundred levels of the Underworld. The last time that this area was a height was approximately during the Sith wars. However, Zhari's studio is a strategically sound location - many floors up within three meters of durasteel and plascrete, accessed via a two-stage entry for a speeder. Thrawn keeps an eye on their surroundings as Zhari opens the three-layer door to the parking spot, and waits for her to close it once they park. He didn't know that they made autofire laser emplacements for the civilian market, but it's eminently practical for her to have them installed at the back and on the ceiling of the space.

Inside, on the other side of a second three-layer door, the artwork is incredible. The walls are painted with scenes from what must be Giad, small showcases of jewelry and costumes wall off a workspace - and under the soft amber light and out of her shoes, Zhari barely comes to his shoulder. She crosses the floor to him, leaving her cloak and jewel bag on a chair and goes directly into his arms, her kiss sweet and invitational at the same time. He lifts her up, sets her on the back of the couch and carefully undoes the back of her gold mesh costume. 

"Why do human females so often wear clothing that they can't get into or out of by themselves?" 

Zhari presses against him, "So that discerning and appreciative admirals can help us out of them."

He is not sure if she is being facetious - there is a certain logic to it. He wants, but the costume and remaining jewelry are complex. Zhari's hands and mouth are delightfully distracting as she removes his belt and figures out the fastening of his tunic. Her hands on his skin are hot and her mouth opens under his lips and tongue, her costume coming undone and falling to her waist.


	6. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long night, and they have waited long enough.

Release

The gold metal mesh and silk scarves fall from her the moment Thrawn lifts her from the back of the couch, leaving her in a necklace, bracelets, and hairpins. Give the man points for efficiency, and it's a better angle for kissing him anyway. Her fingers stroke his neck - his skin is soft, but feels thicker and cooler, but his mouth is hot and demanding. Zhari can't keep back a moan that's answered, leaving her breathless. When she opens her eyes in the aftermath of that kiss, he is watching her.

"Bed," Zhari whispers, lips against his and feet off the floor. It's possible his homeworld has a slightly higher gravity to hold her so effortlessly. "Because after a kiss like that my knees are jelly."

"Where?" He's actually nuzzling her, taking deep breaths of her hair, her neck and it is possibly a little embarrassing how wet he's going to find her. 

"In the back, on the other side of the screen." She then yelps as he flips her across his broad shoulders in a soldier's carry, crossing the space with long, fast strides as she laughs. Extremely efficient!

Her bedroom is everything that her work and reception space is not, the large bed high and piled with soft blankets, draped in her aerial dance silks - and she is grateful for its size, considering Thrawn's height. There is a lot of that man. He eases her down from the soldier's carry and back into his arms, giving her sober consideration, the skin over his cheeks changing to a deeper blue before he takes them both down to the mattress. 

Sitting up, he takes off the black undershirt and pulls her close. "There are differences." His skin is cooler than hers but warming as they press together. 

"Then there are differences," Zhari murmurs. "The Mother's Voice has been singing to me since I saw you. Desire is a sacred thing to Giadi. I will sacrifice to Her for bringing you to me."

Thrawn smiles, his thoughts on that are his own as he twines his fingers with hers - their hands moving downward between until the back of his hand presses against her mound. "Show me what you like, Zhari."

Differences mean that he might not have ever bedded a human female, so she curves her fingers to part her outer lips and release the freshet of slippery wet. Drawing his fingers downward, she gives a fingertip caress to the budded cluster of nerves and tissue at the top of her inner lips. He follows her lead, then his thumb firmly strokes down her clitoral shaft and presses back the hood. 

Everything goes loose and tight as she breathes out a soft moan. Pent. That's the word. It means cheeks burning hot, her sex throbbing in time with her heartbeat and then gasping out all of her breath as his fingers curve boldly inside of her. There are few enough men who can find the guardian of the gate, much less the guardian of the inner wall and it's… so… hardto… think when he's- Zhari's eye close, her head falling back with a cry, the first surge of orgasm fluttering silkily around his fingers and then rolling through her in waves of release. 

~

Thrawn watches Zhari come undone, so much like Eli in his arms but so different. The burning heat of her around his fingers rises with a deep surge of slick wetness, her scent coming in wild waves, and throaty cries urge him on. She's kept herself in check all evening, and he finds himself merciful and generous to one who was merciful and generous to him. Zhari pants, face pressed into his shoulder and he reasserts control of himself as he brushes the hair - as soft as a child's, like Eli's - from her face.

There is beauty in human faces, the varied colors of hair, skin, feature. Their thin skin, their wild emotions that play out so vividly in colors and light. Zhari is beautiful in this disarray and Thrawn pulls her to him, Zhari's kisses enough to drown in. His hands and mouth claim and she melts, fitting herself to him. He is glad to have three days ahead of leave, and if Warrior's Fortune favors him, he's going to spend them here. Thrawn scrapes his boots off against the wooden frame of the bed, and Zhari's hands settle at the fastening of his trousers. Her gaze is inquiring, fingers slipping into the waistband.

"Differences." Rolling her under him, he looks at her - warm-hued against ice-white blankets. "I want to taste you."

"I am no pillow princess, Thrawn. I give as I get." 

Zhari moves under him and he closes his eyes against a wave of lust, his cock insisting on  _ now _ from the confines of his pouch. It's been years that he's denied this appetite and he shushes that part of himself forcefully. Ziara would box his ears for being so inconsiderate and then deny him.

"Young ones. Always about 'now.'" Zhari's breasts are tender handfuls, and he pays them attention, the pads of his thumbs dragging across the crinkled areola, then sucking firmly. "Must I make you come until you're melted?"

"Well, that's the first occasion where I've ever been threatened with a  _ good _ time-" Her banter is bold, but breathless, the bright infrared returning to her cheeks and lips, and where his abdomen presses between her opened legs. 

" _ The delight that is the flower of the night-melon _

_ Her petals parting only in the darkest hours _

_ Give sweet nectar to those who dare pursue  _

_ The ecstasy of the twining vine under moonlight _

_ As she opens in confidence and in joy-" _

Now Thrawn can see why the verses are used on a life-making night - her heart beats faster, driving more warmth to the places that give her such pleasure. "A poem of my people, and one that's been in my mind since I met you."

A touch, a stroke down her thighs and they soften, loosen as he moves downward. The taste of her skin warms on his tongue and then he parts her still slightly swollen lips with a soft lashing. Delicious, the salt-sweet stronger, her flesh blazing hot against him with a spicy musk scent.

"Mother's Voice, Thrawn, I'll drown you." 

Her back arches and she positions the pillows so that she can watch him feast. Locking eyes with Zhari, Thrawn lowers his mouth to her and moans low. If he's going to drown, then he's going to earn it - he puts her legs over his shoulders and sucks the swollen bundle of nerves. Zhari gives a whimper, then a cry and he eases from the hard stimulation into a soft licking. 

He does pause to remove Zhari's hand from his hair. 

Of what evolutionary quirk is the human compulsion to snatch one's partner bald-headed in orgasm? Unfastening his trousers, he pushes them and his underwear down his hips, deep-diving into Zhari and finding ways to wring delightful sounds out of her before he shuffles them down and kicks them off. 

And removes her hand from his hair again. 

He's going to have to do what he does with Eli. 

"Zhari." Firmly, as her eyes are gently hazy, lips parted. "Arms at your sides." 

Thrawn slips his arms under her and firmly takes her wrists. Oh, her pulse zooms, the heat rises from her and drowning is looking ever more likely. She likes that, and likes it very much. Then he devours her, probing and caressing with his tongue and lips, sucking until she writhes against his mouth. He can't hear a thing since her strong thighs muffle his ears, but he knows when she comes, leaving him far from drowning but drenched to the cheeks, his need for her now urgent and sharp. 

Chiss evolved after the Forever Cold came, and that included a way to keep one's  _ takl  _ warm instead of losing it to frostbite. Relaxing, Thrawn flexes a particular set of muscles, causing the tip of his cock to push out of the insulating sack, bringing his testicles with it. The simple drag of the head on the plush blankets is enough to make him shiver. He aches with lust long repressed, and now that he can permit himself the release, it's as fierce as an ice-drake. 

Zhari's legs tremble, and Thrawn is delighted that she appears to have a very short refractory period compared to Eli's thirty minute term. Softened now, Zhari glows to his sight, her heat rising around his sex as he penetrates. She's swollen, tight, impossibly slick and the sensation takes his breath away. He stills inside of her, the small of his back burning with the need to thrust. 

Zhari rests a hand on his cheek, her pulse rapid and her skin fever-hot against his. "Long?"

His voice is a low rasp. "Years."

"I'm not fragile, do you want me on top?"

"I do, but not now. Just like this." 

Wrapped around him, her hair is spread on the pillow like a Mitth'ari'lyris marble. When he moves inside of her, his sex seeking the inner cluster that bought her delight the first time, the sounds she makes are almost sounds of wounding. Yet Zhari pulls him closer, strong thighs bringing her into his thrusts, driving more whimpers, pleas, and lusty cries from her. His reason drowns in his clawing need and her passionate meeting of it.  Climax whites out his vision, wringing him breathless as Zhari's orgasm triggers his, the clenching and fluttering release around his cock pulling pulse after pulse from him. He tries to keep his weight from smashing her into the mattress, but she's not having it - instead pulling him down on top of her. Granted, his sample size is small, but two out of two humans he's bedded seem to like being smashed into the mattress. 

Under him, Zhari's tender, kissing any portion of him in reach - the heat of her dissipating into the warm pink infrared signature he knows from Eli. Still, so warm. Thrawn eases out of her, his brain flooded with dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, oxytocin and overwhelming amounts of melatonin. The room is skin-comfortable temperature for a human, pleasantly warm for Chiss, and Zhari readily comes into his arms - her head tucked under his chin and her breathing moving into the rhythm of sleep. 

~

"Did he come back last night? This morning?" Wyatt Hollis nods at the door of Thrawn's quarters in the Admiralty tower.

"Nope!" Greyaud Treyvan smirks. "Ran off with the pretty to her nest."

"Tsk. She's absconding with Imperial assets, I tell you what." Hollis is only mildly hungover, and will in fact be towing one of his own in an escape pod - this being an alternative to a court martial. "They went down the damn drop tube."

"Well, superior numbers and firepower - they waited for their window and took it. Basic tactics." Treyvan snorted. 

"Little Miss was determined to bag herself a blueberry." Hollis sighed. "We just better hope he didn't set the bar too high."

The grand admirals proceeded down the hall in silence. 

"We ain't just going to let it slide," Hollis muses. "Are we, buddy?"

Treyvan's grin is all the answer he needs. "We're just protecting Imperial assets."


End file.
